Everybody Loves Me
by dark-horse1864
Summary: Vash Zwingli has been homeschooled his entire life. When his parents decide to move with him and his sister, will he adapt to the love and heartbreak of modern high school? highschool AU / starts off Aus/Switz then Pru/Switz


Chapter 1: In which socially-inept me goes to high school and it SUCKS SCHEIβE

There are reasons why I would prefer to be home reading a book or shooting something. First off, teenagers are rude assholes who don't care if they smell or bump into each other. They greet each other with insults. And did I mention they smell? I should be used to it, I mean; I went to military camp, for Christ's sake, so... yeah. I learned some unsettling things there too.

Yes, I am gay. And no, I do not look it. Oh, and I'm short. Wonderful. My mother says that if I don't stop frowning I'm going to go gray by twenty-five and have wrinkles at thirty. So what if I have a temper and a tendency to express my opinion whether people want me to or not? Another reason I got kicked out of military camp. But I still got a pair of kick-ass boots out of it.

After shoving my way through the crowd, and struggling with the map and schedule scrunched up in my hand, I found my homeroom and entered the room. I scanned it quickly deciding that I should sit somewhere not next to anyone.

Some brief history of me: I've been homeschooled since I can remember. My parents used to live in the Alps before deciding for some godforsaken reason to move to the States. My English is shoddy and my friendship skills are even worse. I only remember having one friend, who ended up being a total jerk. I guess I could say my little sister was my best friend, but I was seventeen and she's only fourteen. We were kinda different. But, she was also the only one who knew of my... orientation. I loved her to bits.

"Vash Zwingli?"

My head whipped around at the sound of my name being called. Oh lookie, it's said ex-friend. Wait. What the hell was he doing in the States?

I stared. Roderich Eidelstein was sitting in the front row of the classroom. It was hard to cover the blush that sprung to my cheeks. He had shaped up well. Not round like he was when we were kids, but now long and lean. He had musician's hands and glasses rested on a dainty nose. But his hair was still the same: brown, slightly pushed to one side with one piece that stood up from the rest.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, walking over to his desk. He patted the seat next to him like some crushing schoolgirl. I dumped my bag on the floor and sat heavily on the chair. I folded my arms across my chest and waited for his reply.

"My dad got a job here a few years ago, and we took it. It was a great opportunity; this school has a great music program," he said airily. Since when did he get so stuck up?

"Oh," I said. I hadn't really talked to anyone but adults in the past few years, but Roderich kinda spoke like one anyway.

"What's with the scowl?" Roderich asked suddenly. I looked at him. I didn't realise that I was furrowing and sticking my lower lip out.

"Uh... I, um... I dunno," I said. I shrugged. My shoulders were stiff.

Roderich gave a light chuckle. "You look just the same. But," he said. Did he just check me out? "More filled out. Even your hair is the same."

I reached up and touched my chin-length, blonde hair. I shrugged again. Why were my shoulders stiff? I slumped farther in the chair and faced forwards, still pouting. Roderich took it as 'Vash is a moody son of a bitch who doesn't want to talk' and he respected that. Thanks, Roddy. You're nice to me.

We didn't have any of the same classes, so I stuttered and stumbled through classes, being an anti-social ball of angst who didn't want to make human contact. The other kids probably thought I was some foreign nut-case who was gonna snap someday and shoot up the school. The thing is I probably could. According to my dad, I had decent aim with a shot gun.

At lunch, I found Roderich in the cafeteria and he let me sit with him. He sat with another German boy whose name was Ludwig something and this Italian kid who – from what I gathered – was Ludwig's boytoy or partner or whatever. I think I had calculus with Ludwig. Then, like out of some cliché chick flick, my eyes landed on this one special table.

There were six of them sitting at this one cliché table. Well, not at, partially on. There were four boys and two girls. One of the boys had long (and I mean longer than mine) blonde hair and a light beard. He was reclining in a chair holding a juice box in his hand as if it was a fine crystal wine glass. The next boy was tan with wavy brown hair. Hot damn he had a nice ass... but apart from that, he was talking to this other tan brunette who bore a similar expression to mine. Pouty, angsty, disgruntled. But he was soft-looking. The girls perched on the edge of the table. The first was pale and with strawberry blonde hair tied in a braid down her back. I could hear her laughing across the cafeteria. The next girl had long brown hair and a sly smile. Her shirt was low-cut and - Vash, you're gay. Don't stare at a girl there. It's rude. To continue the cliché moment, my eyes landed on this very gorgeous, very sexy guy.

Silver haired and smirking, he turned and made eye contact with me. I swear his eyes raked over me and then he winked when they got back to my face. But he turned back to his friends and continued talking and laughing.

"If you're staring at Elizabeta, she's dating Gilbert," Roderich said bitterly, breaking my ogling.

"Huh?" I replied, turning back to him. I raised an eyebrow. Who are they?

"Elizabeta Hédérváry? The brunette girl?" Roderich prompted.

I nodded. "But who's this Gilbert kid?" I prompted.

Roderich blushed and looked at his torte. "He's the albino. Gilbert Beilschmidt. He's Ludwig's older brother," he said. There was a bitter undertone in his voice.

"_Ja_. He's my brother even though we're pretty different," Ludwig supplied.

"Go on," I said.

"He's the school's resident... heartbreaker."

I heard Roderich give a little huff. "He's a man whore, that's what he is," he said grumpily.

"Why so upset?" the Italian said, taking a break from shovelling pasta into his mouth.

"I used to date that slutty jerk," Roderich said. Ludwig didn't flinch at the insult to his brother.

My eyes widened. What. The. Fuck. Well. This is a plot twist. Roderich was gay too...? maybe...? Even thought I didn't want to admit it: hopefully?

"You're... gay...?" I mouthed at the brunette.

Roderich looked up and stared straight into my eyes. Cue the blush. Goddamn. I hate being pale and easily embarrassed.

"I'm bi," he said. "I dated Elizabeta before in junior high and the beginning of high school. Then she dumped me. Then I started dating Gilbert. But he's a slut."

I nodded. Ludwig and Italy, the newly-dubbed Italian kid, continued eating and talking. They probably had heard the story before.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. In truth, I was unsure of how to approach this situation.

"Don't be. I should have seen it coming." Roderich paused to take a bite of his torte. "He's very _close_ with his friends Antonio and Francis. Those two are equally as perverted as him."

I raised an eyebrow. What did Roderich mean by _close_? Close, like really good friends? Or close like fuck buddies?

"They occasionally get drunk and make out," Roderich explained bitterly.

"At least you don't live with one of them," Ludwig said. He shuddered with disgust or something.

Roderich opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then he closed his mouth and sipped his flavoured water, decidedly done with the conversation.

I looked back at the table. The two tan dudes were engaged in a spit swap and the almost-ginge was throwing grapes into her mouth. But Gilbert had been staring at me. I noticed him looking and he immediately turned back around. He said something to Elizabeta and kissed her gently, as if to say, 'I'm into this chick, not that weirdo new kid'. He was reassuring himself. But I was assuring myself one thing. I would not fall for the heartbreaker, man-whore Gilbert Beilschmidt. Even if something was telling me I wanted him.

_A/N_

_I actually finished this story, just bear with me. I have to do some sorting/editing. _

_Sadly I don't own Hetalia_


End file.
